


How the Mighty Have Fallen

by LeesaCrakon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Amnesia, Angst and Fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherly Love, Character Study, Crowley has Panic Attacks, Crowley's Fall, Cry with me, Fallen Angels, Gen, Heavy Angst, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, If you only read one work by me, Love, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Torture, Possible Character Death, Psychological Torture, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, The Creation - Freeform, Torture, choo choo, let it be this one, more characters will be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-05-14 21:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19281802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeesaCrakon/pseuds/LeesaCrakon
Summary: Before he fell, Crowley was an angel named Matthew. He doesn't remember that, though. That is until he stumbles across his file in the archives of hell.





	1. Chapter One

Crowley didn’t have the faintest recollection of what it had been like to be an angel. He knew he missed it. He knew that he hadn’t meant to fall. He knew that he had helped create the stars in the solar system. However, that was all he could recall. After the failed attempt at Armageddon, Crowley had a lot more time on his hands, with next to nothing to do. And when a person has nothing to do, they tend to think far too much. He had tried visiting his angel and going out with him to The Ritz or getting drunk off his ass, but nothing was able to distract him for long. He stared at his scattered Astrology pages, eyes flickering over the familiar nebulas and galaxies that he had helped to shape, and sharp pain in his brow, as if he were trying to recall something that was no longer there. **  
**

“Damn it,” he hissed, snapping his fingers so that the pages returned to their book and stalking off to terrorize his plants some. Crowley begrudgingly praised the plants that had managed to maintain their perfection and found nothing wrong with the others. As he used his mister to water his plants, he mused once again over his seemingly absent past. He’d never really dwelt on it before, but being around Aziraphale taught him that life was too short to not question things. Oh! Aziraphale! Perhaps the angel had known Crowley before he’d fallen. It was a start, at least. Even if Aziraphale hadn’t known him, Crowley wouldn’t have the whole ‘what if’ shit bouncing around in the back of his mind. Quickly finishing up with his plants, the demon rushed over to his telephone and called the angel.

“Hello, Aziraphale speaking,” the angel’s voice chimed, immediately having a calming effect on the other man’s nerves.

“Hey Angel, it’s Crowley. I have a question,” Crowley drawled, trying to keep the anxious edge out of his voice. “I’ve been thinking a lot about...before. My past, before I fell. Is there any chance you knew me then? For some reason, I can’t recall anything.” There was silence on the other end of the phone, save the faint rustling of paper.

“I’m...I’m sorry, my dear, but I can’t seem to recall ever interacting with you in the Before times. Although it’s the strangest thing really, I feel like I did know. I just have no memories of it. It’s strange, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said with a faint chuckle. Crowley’s throat tightened.

“No, it doesn’t seem too strange. I feel similar, just about...the entire damn thing.” Crowley couldn’t hide his frustration as he clenched the phone tightly.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry. Would you like to talk about it? Or perhaps have a distraction? We could go to the park, or do something else. Anything you want,” Aziraphale offered sweetly. Crowley sighed and sat in his chair, propping his feet up onto his desk.

“I don’t really know what I want to do. I’ve never actually had the time to think about my time in Heaven, I always had assignments from Hell keeping me busy. Now that they’re leaving us alone…” Crowley’s voice trailed off. Aziraphale let out a thoughtful hum and Crowley waited for some sort of reply. He wanted to see Aziraphale, really he did, but he just felt so tired. Not in a human way, supernatural creatures didn’t actually need sleep, but in the way that someone who has lived for too long and seen too much would feel.

“I’ll be over in a few minutes with some cocoa, maybe a bottle of wine or two. Would you like that?” Aziraphale finally suggested, his voice calm and not at all forceful. Crowley nodded before quickly remembering he was on the phone.

“Yeah, that would be great, angel. You know where I live, right?” Crowley muttered, sitting up straighter and pushing his sunglasses back up, which had begun to fall down his nose.

“Of course I do, Crowley! I’ll be there soon, I promise,” Aziraphale reassured. Crowley swallowed the lump in his throat and made a noise of encouragement. Aziraphale hung up after an ‘I love you’ and another promise that he would arrive as quickly as he could. Crowley hung up the phone and lounged in his chair, staring blankly out towards the window. All the blinds were drawn closed so only a few slivers of light reflected on the demon’s face, but he liked it that way. He closed his eyes and curled up a little bit more. Maybe if he slept, even though it wasn’t necessary, it would help him feel better. It would certainly help Crowley pass the time until Aziraphale got there. He closed his eyes and slowly drifted off.

It seemed to Crowley that he had only been asleep for a few moments when a loud knock startled him out of sleep, jolting him awake and making him nearly fall out of his chair. He could have sworn he heard the faint sound of laughter as he passed by the hall that held his plants to answer the door. Glasses askew, hair a mess, and clothes ruffled, Crowley opened the door for his angel and welcomed him inside. To his relief, Aziraphale made no comment about the demon’s appearance and wrapped his arms around Crowley in a hug as soon as he entered his home.

“My dear, are you alright? You sounded so distraught over the phone,” Aziraphale sympathized, taking Crowley by the shoulders and guiding him towards the couch. Crowley mumbled an incoherent reply and leaned into Aziraphale. When the angel helped Crowley sit down, the demon wouldn’t let go, clinging to the back of Aziraphale’s suit jacket and letting out a soft sound that sounded suspiciously a lot like ‘no’. Aziraphale’s lips quirked up into a small smile and he sat next to Crowley, letting his love bury his face in his neck and keep his arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Thank you for coming,” Crowley said quietly, looking up at Aziraphale with tired eyes. “I’m sorry if I made you leave something important.” Aziraphale smiled reassuringly and shook his head, pressing a soft kiss to Crowley’s hair.

“Nothing is more important than you, darling,” Aziraphale soothed, pulling Crowley closer. Crowley didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just buried his face deeper in the angel’s neck and laid in his arms, comforted by the feeling of his lover’s fingers running through his hair.

“I don’t know why this is upsetting me so much,” scowled Crowley, his frown deepening. He took his glasses off to better rest against his angel and sighed. “I’ve never thought about it this much. I’ve had questions before, but I’ve always had enough to keep me busy so that I don’t dwell on it. Does that...make sense?” It was rare for Crowley to talk so openly about things that he was going through, but he was just tired and so confused that he didn’t care. Besides, he loved Aziraphale. He knew he could trust him to not repeat anything that was said between the two of them if it was requested.

“Yes, it does. Humans are a lot like us in that aspect. It seems that it is common practice for beings to suppress their more unpleasant thoughts with distraction. Unless they aren’t unpleasant for you, just confusing. But it does still apply,” Aziraphale responded thoughtfully. Crowley pondered over the angel’s words.

“Thinking about it is fine, but trying to remember hurts. It’s more of an annoyance than any real pain, but...if I think about it too much it could hurt more,” Crowley said. Aziraphale frowned at that.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in pain?” Crowley shrugged.

“It didn’t seem that important, I suppose.” Aziraphale sighed and sat up slightly, bringing the demon with him, who protested at the movement with a soft grunt.

“I wish you would tell me these things, my dear. You know I hate it when you suffer,” Aziraphale chided gently, lifting Crowley’s chin so that they were looking at each other in the eye. Crowley's eyes flickered downward for a moment as he thought, But that’s exactly why I don’t tell you. He looked back up and just nodded. Aziraphale brushed a thumb over Crowley’s cheek and gave him a gentle kiss. Crowley closed his eyes and leaned into Aziraphale’s touch as he returned the kiss, his nerves slowly deteriorating and the dull throb in his head fading away. When the kiss ended Aziraphale tucked Crowley against his body and held him, the two of them tangling together on the couch and just laying there together, Crowley on top of Aziraphale with his face buried in the angel’s chest And Aziraphale letting out his wings, wrapping them around the two of them as he held his love.

“The bed would probably be more comfortable, if you want to move,” Aziraphale whispered, not wanting to interrupt the peace of that moment. Crowley moves his head in a slight nod against Aziraphale’s chest, and the angel got up off the couch, carrying the demon in his arms and to the bedroom. They settled into a similar position that they’d been in on the couch, just on their sides. Crowley seemed to cling tighter to the angel, eyebrows furrowed as he kept his eyes closed tightly.

“You’ll stay, right? Not just until I fall asleep?” Crowley asked, his grip on Aziraphale’s clothes tightening fearfully. The angel smiled gently as he miracled them out of their normal clothes and into pajamas.

“Of course I’ll stay. Now sleep, my love. You need to rest,” Aziraphale cooed, petting Crowley’s hair and pulling him closer. Crowley took a shaky breath and shifted slightly, pressing himself against Aziraphale’s comforting form as much as he could. Aziraphale watched over his demon lover as he drifted off to sleep, his wings around the two of them in a gesture of protection. Crowley may have opened up to his angel, but his journey was far from over.


	2. Chapter Two

The next morning, Crowley woke to find himself in an empty bed. He panicked, shooting straight up and nearly vaulting himself towards the doorway when he heard the faint sound of classical music and rustling out in the parlor. A relieved smile glided across Crowley’s lips and he got out of bed, yawning deeply before padding out of the bedroom. Aziraphale was in Crowley’s tiny kitchen, wearing a ‘kiss the cook’ apron he’d probably conjured for himself. He looked absolutely adorable, his hair still sticking straight up and flattened on one side from sleeping, pajamas in Crowley’s colors (red and black), and humming softly along to the music playing in the kitchen. The soft, golden light that flooded in from the kitchen window framed Aziraphale’s body and made him look even more angelic if that were possible. Crowley went up behind him, wrapping his arms lazily around his neck and kissing it. **  
**

“Good morning my dear,” Aziraphale said brightly, turning his head to kiss Crowley’s cheek. He hummed softly.

“Good morning, angel. What’re you making?” Crowley asked with a soft purr, nuzzling Aziraphale’s neck. The angel blushed deeply at the actions of the demon and smiled bashfully.

“Ham And eggs, in a somewhat peculiar way- remember my trip to America? Well, there was this young man, named- ah, Peter…Sedlák[1] I believe, who worked as a dishwasher in a home-style diner owned by Greeks! Most diners in America were owned by Greeks then. Anyways, he hardly spoke a lick of English but he enjoyed food, and showed me how to make this! You fry up the ham steaks first then put the eggs in the holes, so it’s all connected see…” Aziraphale finished cracking the eggs, sprinkled in some chives, salt, pepper, and a few other things before putting a top over the skillet. “Then you just put the top on and let it cook for a moment! Isn’t it wonderful?” Crowley smiled fondly at his angel’s excitement.

“It looks wonderful, angel. I’ll set the table, alright?” Crowley kissed just under the angel’s ear and pulled away, taking the plates from the cupboard and setting his table for two. The kitchen was a new addition, something Crowley had put in when Aziraphale had moved in with him. The angel had whipped up many different delightful dishes, and each time another delicious meal was served, Crowley Gave himself a pat on the back for helping introduce Aziraphale to food. Cooking for another person was, in Crowley’s opinion, one of the most domestic and loving things a person could ever do.

“I’m going to break into hell.” Crowley felt as taken aback by his sudden statement as Aziraphale looked. The poor angel had almost dropped his skillet in shock. That certainly would have been a mess.

“You’re going to do what?” Aziraphale gasped, looking at Crowley with shock ridden all over his face. Crowley glanced around for a moment before shrugging his shoulders.

“Break into hell, I guess. Don’t know where that came from, but I’ll go with it,” the demon replied casually, pulling back the angel’s chair for him. Aziraphale thanked him and sat down with a smile, but then quickly got his frown back.

“You are not breaking into hell. No. God knows what they’d do if they saw you!”  Aziraphale exclaimed, setting his fork down. “I won’t have it, Crowley. You can’t go!” Crowley let out a frustrated sigh.

“Aziraphale, I have to. I was able to ignore the gaps before, but I can’t anymore. It’s like…I’m missing a part of me, and it’s fucking terrible. You don’t need to get it, but you need to understand that I have to do this for myself,” Crowley insisted, leaning forward slightly as he put emphasis into his tone. Aziraphale’s jaw clenched.

“And what if you’re discorporated? Or, heaven forbid, permanently killed? It’s too dangerous!” Aziraphale said forcefully. Something deep inside Crowley twisted and he felt anger boiling up in the pit of his stomach.

“That’s not going to happen-”

“How do you know? Crowley, this is madness!” Aziraphale cried. His brows were furrowed with anger, and the demon couldn’t tell who or what that anger was directed towards. Crowley grit his teeth. He didn’t understand. He thought Aziraphale would understand. His stomach twisted more, growing almost painful now. He could practically taste the tension in the air; if this continued, it would end in a fight.

“We’re not having this conversation. Let’s just drop it, please,” Crowley muttered, dropping his gaze down as he played with the bottom of the table cloth. Aziraphale’s anger seemed to fade slightly and he sighed.

“I know I can’t stop you. You’re your own person, and I know you wouldn’t do something like this unless you thought it was important. It doesn’t mean I have to like it,” the angel said stiffly, picking up the tea he’d made for himself and taking a sip. Crowley made no reply, just gave a slight nod, and set to work on his breakfast.

Crowley left the flat when Aziraphale was distracted. He really couldn’t have a crying/angry/upset angel running after him into the depths of hell, boyfriend or not. The demon did his best not to let his mind wander to the past, as a crippling pain would spark in his head like white-hot heat every time he did, but it’s not exactly to keep your mind off something when you’re setting off to do things that would have to involve that something. It was annoying, really. Who the hell invented thinking? And memories? Probably his fellow demons, those bastards. Due to current social stances with said bastards, Crowley decided against using the main entrance. A second and less frequented entrance to hell sat just at the back of a local bank. It had a low security, low traffic, and really wasn’t even a bank at all. The Legions Of Hell just said it was, so naturally, everyone believed it.

The bell above the door rang softly as Crowley entered the bank. A fine layer of dust covered every surface, making it appear as if everything had a slight white tint to it. Crowley wrinkled his nose in distaste at the state of it all. Sure, this place was an entrance to hell, but why did it have to be so filthy? Shoving his hands into his pockets so that he didn’t touch anything, the demon made his way to the backroom. He passed a few skeletons along the way but paid them no mind. After all, what hell did was none of his business anymore. Except this. This whole mess was most definitely his business. Crowley hissed in pain as his head pounded and he paused, closing his eyes until it ebbed away to a tolerable sting. He huffed and straightened his jacket before pushing open the ‘employees only’ door.

The official entrance to hell wasn’t exactly that subtle. A boiling bit of fire in the middle of an accounting space with the occasional screech coming out of it certainly did scream ‘satan’, though.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Crowley said to himself. Shutting the door firmly behind him and taking a moment to readjust himself, the demon leaped into the burning pit, plummeting down into the depths of hell.

 

 

[1] My papa. I had a dream about him and Aziraphale meeting when he was younger and I couldn’t stop laughing, so I incorporated it in this. The breakfast is one of my papa’s favorites and he makes it for my siblings and me a lot

 

 

 


	3. Chapter Three

Crowley let out a loud whoop as he plummeted through the fiery tunnel, grinning wickedly as he twisted and spun throughout the air. It reminded him of the time when he trapped Hastur in voicemail. After falling, Crowley would get a thrill out of the free-falling sensation. He’d gone bungee jumping and skydiving on a number of occasions. Now, why exactly was Crowley thinking about these things while he was plummeting down into hell? You see, dear reader, Crowley had realized his grave mistake in choosing this tunnel as the smell of rotting flesh and mold filled his nostrils. Our demon had made the fatal decision to use hell’s garbage chute as his entrance. So, rather than thinking too much about what waited for him below and pouting over his new jacket being ruined, Crowley decided to use that imagination of his and pretend he was just on another one of his skydiving trips. Imagination doesn’t get you everywhere, however, and as Crowley crashed face first into a pile of what he hoped was mud and not something else, he regretted everything. 

 

“Ow,” Crowley grunted, sitting back on his knees and wiping off what thankfully had been mud from his face. He glanced around at the heaps of demonic trash and waste (yes, hell’s sewage and garbage systems were one in the same) and got to his feet. Garbage dropped from above through several different fiery chutes in the ceiling, most of it burning into a thick, black sludge that Crowley was up to his ankles in. Grumbling something about how the entire place was full of nutcases, Crowley shook off as much of the goo as he could and trudged through the mountains of trash. Some of it was so high up that it clogged up the garbage shoots above. Hell may be fairly organized, but they did not, by any means, know how to properly dispose of its waste. And the smell! Absolutely horrid. 

 

“Are you sure you saw someone come through the chute?” An all too familiar voice echoed through the maze of trash and Crowley quickly hid behind one of the towering stacks, careful not to touch anything while also not being seen. Hastur and Ligur approached the tower he was hiding behind and he quickly scampered around to the other side. 

 

“Yes, Hastur, I’m sure! I’m not a lunatic,” Ligur snapped. Crowley frowned in confusion. Hadn’t he killed Ligur? He was pretty sure he had. It was a permanent kind too. 

 

“Ligur, my little devil, please. Let’s just go home,” Hastur groaned, irritated. 

 

“Little devil?” Crowley whispered to himself, the epitome of confusion, tempted to peek his head around the corner just to know what the ever-loving fuck was going on. 

 

“Oh come on, Hastur, that’s not fair. You know I can’t resist you when you use pet names,” Ligur hissed, but Crowley didn’t miss the pleasured undertone in the way he spoke to Hastur. His nose wrinkled in disgust. 

 

“What? I thought you liked it, Snookums.” Oh God, Hastur was practically purring at the other demon now. And were they kissing? Crowley felt like he was going to be sick. In fact, Crowley felt so much like he was going to be sick that he verbally gagged, catching the other two demons off guard and forcing them to end their lip-sucking session. 

 

“Who’s there? Come out, now!” Ligur shouted, and Crowley heard the two demons tromping towards his garage pillar. The demon cursed under his breath and took off into a sprint, ignoring the two shouting demons behind him. He weaved through the stacks of garbage and tried to find the exit, looking around wildly. He’d never actually been to the garbage rooms before. Only the lowest demons worked down here, and Head Office had liked him quite a lot until he and Aziraphale had been found out, so trying to find his way through this place was like a blind man trying to go through a corn maze. Just as Crowley thought he may have gotten a glimpse of the exit, a pair of hands grabbed him by the back of the jacket and yanked him backward, nearly dragging him through a rather nasty looking pile of decomposing ears. 

 

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Hastur sneered, pinning Crowley up against one of the stacks of garbage. Crowley grimaced as an audible squishing sound could be heard when his back pressed against the pillar. Ligur hung back just behind Hastur, his eyes and the iguana on his head flashing rapidly between different colors. A sign of stress. Poor thing, the incident with the holy water must still be fresh in his memory. 

 

“How the hell are you still alive?” Crowley muttered, looking over Hastur’s shoulder at the other demon. Ligur stiffened and his lips curled into a snarl. 

 

“When our master’s son returned everything to normal, I was brought back. Surprise,” he sneered. Shooting a mock smile at the other demon. Crowley rolled his eyes and pushed Hastur off of him, straightening his jacket again. 

 

“Right. Well, lovely seeing you two again, but I really need to go,” Crowley said dismissively, pushing past Hastur. “You can go back to your snogging now, I won’t be here for long.” Hastur sputtered in indignation and Ligur’s iguana turned a rather violent shade of red. It had always been so fun making those too angry, right from the moment Crowley had first fallen. A sharp, blinding pain shrieked through Crowley and he gasped, clutching his temple. He staggered forward and tried to keep walking, but the pain was excruciating. 

 

“What are you doing? Why are you walking like that?” Hastur questioned, as socially-inept as Crowley remembered. He shook him off stalked towards the exit. Hastur and Ligur followed him, but Crowley paid them no attention. “Crowley! Stop! Where are you going?!” Hastur shrieked. God, his voice was annoying, but it was even worse when Crowley had a headache. Finally reaching the grime covered door that led out of the dump, Crowley pushed through and was immediately swept up in a crowd of demons milling around and going about their work. Using the crowd to blend in and hide from the demons pursuing him, Crowley kept his head down and altered his appearance slightly so as not to be recognizable. Hastur and Ligur were shoving demons out of their way and searching wildly for him. Crowley’s headache had gone back to a dull throb and he was able to look around without black dots dancing in front of his eyes. 

 

“Records, records, where are the records,” Crowley muttered to himself, looking at the overhanging signs that jutted out of the walls, straining to read the chicken scratch that was written on them. He glanced back quickly to see that Hastur and Ligur were still in hot pursuit. He groaned and ducked under and unsuspecting demon’s arm and made his way through the crowd quicker. 

 

Finally finding the sign that read ‘records room’, Crowley pushed his way past several more demons and ran in, closing the door tightly behind him. He sighed in relief and turned, and that relief was soon diminished. The Records room was almost a mirror image of the garbage dump, just with stacks of paper instead of trash. Files, loose papers, bound books, everything was just scattered around meaninglessly. It was almost as if Hell didn’t want any of this stuff to be found. 

 

“Anthony J. Crowley,” a mechanical voice echoed through the vast space, making the demon flinch. He turned towards the source of the voice to find a hologram of sorts, kind of like the Metatron, hoving a few feet up in the air. He blinked. 

 

“Ah- yes, that’s me. I’m looking for my file,” Crowley said, clearing his throat and facing the hologram completely. The bobbing head in the hologram nodded before disappearing. A thick, leatherbound book began to glow a light orange and was lifted into the air as if by magic, floating slowly towards Crowley. The demon plucked it out of the air and blew the thick layer of dust off of the cover, coughing and waving his hand as he flew into his face. His eyes lit up at the golden letters that adorned the cover. ‘The Life and Times of Anthony J. Crowley’. 

 

“Will that be all, Mr. Crowley?” the hologram chimed in, appearing directly in front of the demon this time. 

 

“Yes, that’s all, thank you,” Crowley said, barely able to contain the excitement that bubbled up in his chest as his fingers hovered over the cover. Everything about him, who was, who he knew, the things he did in heaven, all of it was right here. Crowley’s old name may even be in there. What if he’d had a family in heaven? Some angels did. Would it detail the other things he had helped to create? He wanted to open it and read it all right now, but he knew that he needed to get out of hell first. Thanking the hologram of sorts once again, Crowley tucked the thick book under his arm and marched out of the records room. 

 

“Crowley!” rang out as soon as the demon stepped through the door, 

 

“Oh, piss off, Hastur!” Crowley shouted, rolling his eyes and elbowing past some demons. He heard several shouts and grumbles of complaint as Hastur and Ligur shoved people aside to try and get to him. Crowley rolled his eyes and casually made his way to the escalator that led out of hell. Instead of just standing on it as he usually did, Crowley ran up the escalator steps. He quickly burst out of hell and sprinted as quickly as he could out of the building and down the street. God damn it all, why hadn’t he driven the Bentley?! 


	4. Chapter Four

 

By the time he finally reached his flat, Crowley was red in the face and breathing heavily from running. He had just barely managed to lose Hastur and Ligur in the winding streets and had to take quite a few wrong turns just to get them off his tail. He clutched his book tightly to his chest and went into his plant room. A note sat on his desk, in Aziraphale’s handwriting. Setting the book down, Crowley picked up the note and read it. 

 

_ My dear,  _

_ I’ve gone to do some work at the book shop. I trust you to return back safely. If there’s even a scratch on you, I swear to all things holy and otherwise that you’ll never hear the end of it. Dinner’s in the fridge if you could just put it on the stove at around five o’clock, that would be wonderful!  _

 

_ Love,  _

_ Aziraphale _

 

Crowley chuckled softly and set the letter down, plopping into his chair and setting the book in his lap. His fingers traced once again over the golden letters, the worn leather cover calling to him, begging him to open it. All the answers to his questions were right in this book. Once Crowley read it, he would know who he was.Everything he’d ever wondered about, everything that caused those blasted headaches and (metaphorically) sleepless nights would all be revealed to him when he opened this book and read. It was exhilarating, but absolutely terrifying at the same time. He sucked in a breath as he slowly opened the book, the gentle crack from the age of the paper inside sending a rush through him.

 

The title page had, obviously, the title, in that same gold writing, and underneath it was a sketched portrait of a younger looking Crowley. He looked almost exactly the same, but his cheeky smile seemed more genuine and his hair was in what looked like a stereotypical businessman’s haircut, and it was a dirty blonde rather than red. It appeared that falling had done wonders for his appearance. The innocence and joy that seemed to radiate from the sketch threw him off. He certainly hadn’t expected for his angel self to look like that. He thought he would’ve been somewhat cool. 

 

Just underneath the picture, written in dark bold letters, were the words: 

 

**_Matthew, Protector of the stars, Fallen Angel_ **

 

Crowley smiled bitterly. What a title that was. His eye twitched slightly as he faintly recalled his training under the Archangel, Raphael. He’d taught Crowley how to hang the stars and create paintings of galaxies and nebulas that would bring beauty and light to the cold masses of space. He’d been happy, then. He supposed he was happy now, being here with Aziraphale, but this had been different. His eyes lingered over his old name, Matthew. It suited him then. It wouldn’t have now, but he supposed it was a good name for an angel. He licked his thumb and turned the book to the next page. He recoiled back and coughed as a puff of dust flew up into his face. 

 

“They really didn’t care after I fell, did they?” Crowley muttered, waving the dust away from his face, slight pain in his chest. It wasn’t like he missed heaven or anything, no. No, not at all. The page detailed all the different pranks he’d pulled in heaven. Why they had a page like that in his book he didn’t know, but Crowley got a good chuckle out of what he read. Apparently, Matthew had refused to call Sandalphon by his real name and just called him ‘Sandals’ all the time. 

 

“Just as much of a little shit then as I am now,” Crowley mused, a slight smile on his lips. His head had decided to be annoying again and a soft, ebbing headache was beginning to build. It seemed that his memories weren’t being returned. It was like he was an onlooker to his own life, standing off to the sidelines and watching everything play out without actually going through it, or remembering it, just watching. It was an odd feeling, an almost unsettling feeling. It was even more unsettling to see God’s overly cheerful commentary in all the margins, talking about how Matthew was one of her ‘favorite creations’. Crowley called bullshit. He shifted in discomfort and kept reading. 

 

Matthew’s life had been quite boring, actually. He created the stars under Raphael’s direction, was one of God’s advisors in the making of the divine plan (which had definitely changed since Crowley had been up there) and did some service work for other angels. He was one of heaven’s most blessed and beloved occupants. Apparently, even Gabriel liked him. Crowley frowned softly as he read a passage from the book describing his and Gabriel’s relationship.

 

_ There were very few families created in Heaven. God wished to create each angel as their own individual, independent from one another. She believed that angels having families would compromise their purpose, and weaken them. But, as she created the archangel Gabriel, she sensed a deep loneliness within him and realized that the angel, unlike his fellows, was meant to have companionship.  _

 

_ And so, God fashioned Gabriel a brother, using the same soil and breath of life that she had used to create the archangel. From that day forward, Matthew was treated as Gabriel’s blood, for in truth he nearly was, and the two angels worked together to do God’s work.  _

 

_ Besides Raphael, Gabriel was Matthew’s main mentor and teacher, He taught him all the ways of heaven, and under Gabriel’s teaching, Matthew was on his way to joining the other archangels and ascending to become one of God’s most trusted servants. Matthew and Gabriel became inseparable, and there were angels who grew jealous of their relationship. They all fell and were no longer a threat to the brothers, but there were those who seethed in silence.  _

 

Crowley nearly dropped the book in shock. He and Gabriel, brothers? Why on earth had gone done that? He couldn’t really be related to that...thing, could he? Crowley sighed and rubbed his face in exasperation. Of course, this was just his luck. He could see the smirk on God’s face now as she watched his horrified expression. The man who’d wanted to murder his lover, who had made Aziraphale’s life a living hell when he was still working for heaven, was related to him. Wonderful. Absolutely terrific. 

 

Crowley grit his teeth and had to take a deep, shaky breath. No use getting angry about it now, he supposed. That had been thousands, possibly even millions of years ago. Gabriel clearly hadn’t cared enough to call upon him and see how he was doing, so Crowley could honestly care less. Rubbing his temple and sighing, Crowley flipped to the next page. His heart immediately plummeted. The next page detailed his fall. He quickly skipped over it. Crowley new plenty about what had happened then, thank you very much. However, as his eyes fell on the top of the next page, his stomach dropped to the floor. 

 

_ Matthew and the angel Aziraphale were companions for much of Matthew’s time in heaven. Matthew created the Alpha Centauri in Aziraphale’s memory. The two angels were deeply in love.  _

 

Deeply in love. Oh, God, Crowley had known Aziraphale before. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains depictions of Alcohol use and panic attacks! be careful, my lovelies <3

Author’s note: tumblr user sundry-whovengerslocked has been an absolute savior as I’ve written this fic! I would be more than happy to call her a coauthor because of all the ideas she’s helped me with. She helped me with much of the last chapter, and this chapter as well. Give her some love!

 

Aziraphale ended up being gone much longer than he intended to. A group of teenage boys had come into the bookshop genuinely interested in the books and of course, the angel indulged them as they went through the shop. The children had ended up being there for hours, and Aziraphale had sadly but willingly parted with a few books from his precious collection. It was worth seeing those young men light up with pure joy as a book they’d wanted to read but had never been able to find were all right there for them to have. Then, he’d gotten distracted by the most adorable little ducklings in the park. He threw them a few pieces of bread and then quickly hurried on home.

 

 It was about 5:30, and Aziraphale knew that despite the note he left, Crowley most likely hadn’t put the lasagna in the oven. Oh, well, they would just have to eat slightly later than usual. He really hoped that Crowley was home, he’d been worried enough to see that his love had slipped out of the house without him noticing. If Crowley wasn’t back when Aziraphale got to the flat, the angel knew he would panic. Hell was a bad place. He knew that after only being there for a few minutes and watching them murder a demon for no true reason. He shuddered at the thought of what could happen- could be happening- to Crowley right at this moment if he hadn’t managed to get back. 

 

“Crowley, I’m home,” Aziraphale called as he entered the flat, setting down the books in his hands. He glanced around and frowned. The lasagna was indeed in the oven. The kitchen was immaculate. Except for one thing. Aziraphale sighed as his eyes fell on three large empty wine bottles sitting on the kitchen table. “Crowley? Crowley, darling, where are you?” Aziraphale called again, anxiously awaiting the demon’s reply. Crowley getting drunk by himself was never good news. A loud, low groan filtered through the air from Crowley’s office of source, where he kept his telephone. Aziraphale hurried into the room and was greeted by a very drunk Crowley slumped against the wall, slowly chugging an entire bottle of wine. There were five more empty bottles around him. God, he sure was lucky he was a demon and not a human. 

 

“Angel! You’re home,” Crowley slurred, staggering to his feet. The little bit of wine left in the bottle sloshed as Crowley stumbled towards Aziraphale, flinging his arms around his neck and kissing him all over the face. “I missssed you. Heh,” Crowley continued with a slight hiss, hiccuping and kissing Aziraphale eagerly before stumbling back over to his chair. As entertaining as it was to see Crowley so absolutely hammered like this, Aziraphale knew that for Crowley to let himself get drunk, something had to be bothering him. 

 

“My dear, I think it’s about time you sobered up,” Aziraphale said gently, placing his hands on Crowley’s shoulders and guiding him to sit in his chair. The demon whined in protest and shook his head vigorously, taking another swig from the bottle of wine. “Why not?” Aziraphale frowned. 

 

“Don’t want to,” came the simple reply, and Crowley pouted at his angel. Aziraphale’s chest tightened. 

 

“Why don’t you want to?” he asked, cautious. Crowley stared at him for a moment, a little more sullen now, before lowering his gaze to the floor. 

 

“It hurts,” Crowley whispered, his voice breaking. He looked back up at Aziraphale, his slitted snake eyes wide and filled with fear. “I’ll think too much. It hurts, Zira. I can’t…” The demon curled up on himself, the bottle in his hands dangling threateningly from his fingers. Aziraphale carefully took the bottle and set it on Crowley’s desk before cupping the demon’s face and gently lifted it. Crowley’s jaw was set tight but his eyes were glistening with unshed tears. 

 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, brushing Crowley’s cheek with his thumb. The demon slumped forward and rested his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder. He began to tremble and the angel saw the bottles of wine slowly beginning to refill themselves. Aziraphale kept a steady, comforting grip on Crowley, getting a hint at how upset he was going to be when he was sober. Crowley’s breathing hitched suddenly as his hands scrambled to grab the back of Aziraphale’s jacket, his hands shaking. Aziraphale pulled Crowley close to his chest. 

 

“I knew you,” Crowley choked out, his breathing erratic. “I knew you before, I dedicated stars to you, I loved you, I-” Crowley cut himself off with a loud sob, burying his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder as he shook. “We were together before I fell. I could’ve killed you. I could’ve killed you in the Great War and **_I wouldn’t have fucking remembered you_ ** !” Crowley shouted, though it was muffled by Aziraphale’s shoulder. He whipped his head up suddenly, almost knocking Aziraphale in the chin as his eyes widened in terror. “I didn’t hurt you did I? Oh my Lord, did I hurt you? Did I fight you? Please, please tell me I didn’t, please,” Crowley begged, hands gripping the front of Aziraphale’s jacket as his body heaved with sobs. Aziraphale quickly took in Crowley’s appearance. Trembling, heavy and short breathing, sweat on his forehead, sense of impending doom and panic, all signs of one thing. 

 

“Crowley, darling, look at me. Focus completely on me,” Aziraphale said slowly. Crowley shook as he made eye contact with Aziraphale, tears rolling thick and fast down his face. “There you go, that’s it. Can you breathe with me, darling? Listen to my breathing,” he continued. He placed Crowley’s hand over his heart before taking slow, deep breaths for the other man to mimic. Crowley struggled to copy Aziraphale. 

 

“I-I can’t, I can’t,” Crowley gasped, his breathing only getting worse. Aziraphale’s heartbeat quickened but he did his best to remain calm. 

“Alright. Look at me, darling. Name five things you can see.” Crowley glanced quickly around the room. 

 

“Y-You, my chair, sunglasses, gr-grey walls, and the t-telephone,” Crowley managed. Aziraphale smiled encouragingly. 

 

“Good, very good. You’re doing well. Now name three things that you can touch.” Crowley’s shaking had calmed down to light shivers. 

 

“Your suit jacket, the carpet, and...um, the chair, again,” Crowley’s voice tapered off. 

 

“You’re doing so well, my dear, good job. Tell me two things you can hear,” Aziraphale soothed, maintaining eye contact with Crowley. The demon closed his eyes for a moment. 

 

“My breathing and the ceiling fan.” He was much calmer now, and anxiety was giving way to exhaustion. Aziraphale nodded. 

 

“Almost done, you can get through this. I’m so proud of you. Tell me one thing you can taste,” Aziraphale concluded, allowing Crowley to slump against him slightly.

 

“Wine,” Crowley murmured with the tiniest smile, closing his eyes. He was completely exhausted as he weakly clung to Aziraphale. “What on earth was that? That...that was fucking awful,” Crowley croaked, his throat dry and sore from crying. Aziraphale summoned a glass of water and the demon drank it eagerly. 

 

“You had a panic attack. Humans have them a lot, or so I’ve heard, especially when they have some form of anxiety. It’s caused by a number of things, but most likely in your case, it was because of the contents in your file,” Aziraphale explained slowly. He’d seen the book lying open on Crowley’s desk and put two and two together. Crowley wrinkled his nose and sagged even further against Aziraphale, drinking from a once again full glass. 

 

“I don’t like panic attacks. Bloody stupid things,” Crowley muttered. Aziraphale smiled sympathetically and extended his wings, wrapping them around the two of them the best he could. Crowley hummed softly as the feather enveloped him like a warm blanket. Aziraphale stood, carrying Crowley in his arms and walking to the bedroom, keeping the wings wrapped tightly around them. 

 

“You should get some rest. Panic attacks can be rather exhausting, and it would be best if you relaxed,” Aziraphale said. Crowley could only move his head in a slight nod against Aziraphale’s chest, already dozing off as pure exhaustion took over him. Aziraphale placed Crowley on the soft mattress, snapping to put him in a pair of soft, black pajamas. 

 

“Will you stay with me?” Crowley asked, lifting his head tiredly to look at his lover. Aziraphale answered by summoning a set of pajamas for himself and climbing into bed next to Crowley. He extended his wings once more and placed them protectively over his demon. Crowley snuggled closer to his angel, wrapping his arms around his waist and tangling their legs together. Aziraphale smiled softly and kissed the top of Crowley’s head, making the demon hum softly with content. They both fell asleep soon after, Aziraphale using a small miracle to help them fall asleep faster. 

 

Little did Crowley know that the dreaming world was just as terrifying as the waking one, and sometimes things are revealed that one does not always want to know. 


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS IN THIS CHAPTER FOR IMPLIED TORTURE AND POSSIBLE ABANDONMENT

Crowley’s dreams that night were filled with haunted memories. Wisps of days gone by and troubling times returned to haunt him with a vengeance. It was odd; he was an onlooker. Not looking through his own eyes, but watching off to the sidelines. The darkness that usually invaded his vision and kept all dreams away faded into soft, white light, with stars decorating the area above and two figures melting into view until Crowley could clearly make out Gabriel and Matthew looking at the stars together. 

 

“What do you think?” Matthew’s voice was clipped, short, but tinged with excitement as he looked at Gabriel, hands clasped behind his back. Gabriel hummed softly as he looked up at the Nebula that Matthew had carefully placed, his eyes twinkling almost as brightly as the stars themselves. He pretended to pat his chin in thought. 

 

“Well, it could be better. The stars are a little crooked, and that bundle of stars over there is too close together,” Gabriel commented. Matthew frowned at the other angel in disdain until Gabriel burst out laughing and slung an arm around his shoulders. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! It’s absolutely gorgeous, Matthew!” Gabriel said with delight, beaming at his younger brother. “It’s as if God herself crafted this nebula! And the colors...goodness me, Raphael and I taught you well! I’m so proud of you!” Matthew looked up in surprise, ceasing to struggle out of Gabriel’s grip. 

 

“Do you mean that?” Matthew asked doubtfully. Gabriel raised an eyebrow at him. 

 

“Uh, yeah? Of course, I do, I’m an angel. I can’t lie,” he said, patting Matthew on the back. “Besides, I would tell you if it sucked. You are my brother.” Matthew rolled his eyes but smiled fondly at the archangel. He looked back up at the stars and for a moment a conflicted expression crossed his face that Gabriel missed, but Crowley would have recognized anywhere. 

 

“Well, that’s good, because there’s something about it I need to tell you. And I need some advice,” Matthew said slowly. Gabriel perked up with interest and turned more towards Matthew, folding his arms across his chest in an ‘I’m listening’ type of way. Matthew closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. “You see...I actually made this for somebody. As in, I dedicated the creation of this Nebula to...somebody...I like…” Matthew trailed off and his face flushed with embarrassment. Gabriel’s eyebrows arched so high that they disappeared into his hair. 

 

“You’re in love with someone? Who?” Gabriel demanded eyes lit up with curiosity. Matthew blushed even darker and opened his mouth to protest when Gabriel cut him off suddenly. “Oh my God, it’s Aziraphale, isn’t it? That angel you’ve been hanging around?” When Matthew nodded, Gabriel gasped. Matthew hid his face in his hands in embarrassment. “Matthew, he loves you too! This is awesome! I’ll get him for you!”

 

“What?! Gabe, no-!” Matthew tried to protest, but it was already too late. A second after his well-meaning mistake, Gabriel summoned a very surprised Aziraphale. The angel’s cheeks were red with surprise as he held some sort of small blade in his hand, a white cream smeared on the side of his face. His curly hair stuck out wildly. He looked as if he’d just woken up. Aziraphale quickly hid the blade behind his back and smiled widely at the other two. 

 

“Matthew, Gabriel! To what do I owe this pleasure?” Aziraphale said cheerfully. Matthew’s face was impossibly red by now and Gabriel simply chuckled. Crowley’s mouth twitched into a smile as he watched. He and Aziraphale were just as clueless then as they were now, it seemed. 

 

“Well, I need to get going but, you two should chat!” Gabriel said breezily, clapping Matthew on the shoulder and winking at him before disappearing. Aziraphale blinked and Matthew smiled sheepishly. 

 

“I’m sorry about that…That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Matthew muttered. Aziraphale miracled away the cream and blade, a soft frown on his lips. 

 

“So...you don’t want to talk to me?” Aziraphale asked softly, wringing his hands. The sadness in his deep, blue eyes made Matthew panic and he scrambled to save himself. 

 

“Yes, yes I want to talk to you! I just- I wasn’t expecting it to be now, Gabriel summoned you when I just wanted to ask for advice and-”   
  


“Why do you need advice on talking to me?” Aziraphale questioned, an eyebrow cocked in amusement. “We’ve been friends since nearly the day you were created. I thought you would be used to talking to me by now. Or are you as socially inept as a rock?” Aziraphale chortled, smirking. Matthew was blushing again. 

 

“It’s nothing like that,” Matthew sighed. He turned away from Aziraphale and looked up at the stars before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. It was now or never. He took Aziraphale by the hand and pointed upwards towards the nebula above them. “I made this in your honor. I wanted to create something that would remind the rest of the world and myself of your beauty. Of course, even the brightest star could never outshine you, but...I couldn’t think of anything more to do. I hope you like it,” Matthew murmured. Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he looked up at the nebula, watching the weaving colors and the bright stars decorating the previously empty sky and he gasped, his hand holding Matthew’s tightly. Swirls of pink, purple, blue, green, and a number of other brilliant shades that had not yet been named danced around them and illuminated the black expanse of space.

 

“This is for me? Really?” Aziraphale asked breathlessly, glancing at Matthew. The other angel nodded, and suddenly Aziraphale’s eyes were filled with tears. Alarmed, Matthew cupped Aziraphale’s cheek and brushed the tears away. 

 

“Don’t cry, please...I’m sorry, is it too much? It’s probably too much, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to-” Matthew was cut off as Aziraphale grabbed him by the front of his robes and kissed him, deep and breathtaking. Matthew inhaled sharply and was too shocked to do anything. Aziraphale pulled away, eyes fluttering softly as he looked up at Matthew with heavily lidded eyes. Both Matthew and Crowley looked at him in awe. He was absolutely stunning. 

 

“You talk too much, Matthew,” Aziraphel whispered, leaning towards him and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “It wasn’t too much, it was perfect. I just...I hadn’t realized what I meant to you until now. I suppose I should have guessed...you spend almost as much time with me as you do Raphael and Gabriel.” Matthew swallowed thickly and met Aziraphale’s love-soaked gaze. The two angels stared at each other, one in admiration and the other in wonder. Matthew’s hand trembled slightly as he brought it up to cup Aziraphale’s cheek again. The other angel leaned into the touch and hummed softly in satisfaction. Matthew hesitantly leaned forward towards Aziraphale’s ear. 

 

“May I kiss you again?” he whispered, gently running a thumb over the other’s cheek. Aziraphale’s gaze softened. 

 

“My dear, you don’t need to ask.” Their lips met once more, in a chaste but sweet kiss. Aziraphale pressed his hands against Matthew’s chest as the taller man wrapped an arm around his waist and kept his hand on his cheek, both closing their eyes and relishing in each other. Crowley watched on, a rare, soft smile on his lips as the scene melted away and faded to black. Time had passed. Matthew was alone. It was dark, dim, but Crowley could see that it was still heaven. Matthew sat at a long dining table (apparently heaven had dining halls), picking at a bowl of mush. Crowley’s gaze flickered with unease as he saw Matthew approached by an all too familiar figure. 

 

“Matthew!” Lucifer drawled, plopping down next to the younger angel with a charming smile on his face. “Matthew, my dearest friend, how are you?” Lucifer’s tone dripped with false sympathy and kindness, and Crowley wanted to shout out in warning to his younger self, to run and hide and never look at the Angel of the Morning ever again, but what had passed had passed, and he recognized the loneliness in Matthew’s gaze as he looked up at the other angel. It was a feeling he’d experienced numerous times throughout the centuries. 

 

“I feel like shit,” Matthew said bluntly, his voice monotone and flat as he looked blankly at Lucifer. The angel blinked but quickly regained his composure, placing a hand on Matthew’s shoulder comfortingly. 

 

“Tell me what happened,” Lucifer said gently. Crowley didn’t miss the glint in his eyes, but Matthew did, and the poor young man looked so broken and upset that Crowley was honestly surprised he hadn’t spilled his guts out sooner. But Crowley didn’t hear what Matthew said. He remembered it. Fighting. Yelling. Aziraphale’s angry glare tearing into him. The sound of shattering glass and a pained cry. Aziraphale’s shocked face as an injured Matthew ran far, far away from him, the golden blood of angels dripping from the cut that ran ragged down the left side of his face. Crowley blinked as a sinking feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. Matthew was sobbing into Lucifer’s shoulder as the blasted, evil being soothed him, rubbing his back in circles. 

 

“Oh, darling, that’s simply terrible. For someone you love so deeply to hurt you that way...is that what this is from?” Lucifer said smoothly, pulling away, to run a finger over the scar on Matthew’s face. The young angel flinched away violently and Lucifer looked at him in sympathy. He held Matthew’s face in place and murmured something with half closed eyes. Crowley watched, stone-faced as the wound on Matthew’s face healed completely, while Matthew only looked in wonder, his tears slowing until they stopped. 

 

“I...thank you,” Matthew said, bowing his head in a gesture of thanks. Lucifer smirked but quickly turned it into a smile as he lifted Matthew’s chin, gently encouraging the younger angel to look up at him. 

 

“Come with me, Matthew, away from this place. I can bring you to my friends. They will treat you better than Gabriel or Aziraphale ever could. They are your real friends, your true friends, who care for you. Come,” Lucifer tempted. Matthew drew in a sharp breath, conflicted before he remembered the healing and relaxed. 

 

“Alright.” The next change was rapid, cutting right from Lucifer and Matthew to the courtrooms of heaven. Crowley watched as Matthew was dragged into the room, face bloody and body coated with grime and dirt as he was bound in chains. The guards threw Matthew to the floor and he groaned, staying on his hands and knees for a moment, delirious with pain. He looked up at Phanuel, the angel of judgment, and his already terrified eyes filling with fear as they fell upon the fiery pit that lay between them, where he would be cast down to hell. 

 

“Phanuel! Phanuel, please, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen! I swear my loyalty to heaven. I will fight at your side and the side of the rest of our comrades in the Great War. My allegiance is to heaven, not to Lucifer!” Matthew shouted, his voice filled with desperation. Phanuel kept a neutral, emotionless expression and snapped his fingers. One of the angelic guards opened the doors to the courtroom and Gabriel came through, Raphael and Uriel escorting him on either side. Matthew’s heart swelled with hope but Crowley’s only filled with dread. He could not remember this, but he sensed what was about to come. 

 

“As is the custom in heaven, each angel in danger of falling is given the chance for redemption through a heavenly advocate. Matthew, your brother Gabriel was chosen as your advocate,” Phanuel said, their voice booming through the expansive courtroom. Phanuel nodded in Gabriel’s direction. “Archangel Gabriel, do you have any reason to believe that your brother, the angel Matthew, should remain in heaven?” Crowley stepped back, his stomach churning. Matthew’s eyes filled with unshed tears and hope as he smiled at Gabriel. Gabriel’s eyes flickered from Matthew to Phanuel before he cleared his throat. 

 

“There is only one thing that I wish to say,” Gabriel began, before pausing. Phanuel nodded for him to continue. Gabriel’s face suddenly filled with rage as he whipped around to face Matthew, eyes ablaze with anger as he pointed a finger at his brother. “That traitorous filth is no brother of mine!” He snarled, his hands shaking from the pure rage that coursed through his veins. Matthew’s smile immediately wiped away and all of the color drained from his face. 

 

“No...No, Gabriel, please,” he begged, falling to his knees and clasping his hands together as the tears in his eyes began to fall. “Please, I didn’t mean to fall, you have to believe me!” Matthew sobbed. Gabriel looked at the blubbering angel in disgust and turned away, leaving from whence he came. Matthew broke down into tears as Raphael and Uriel grabbed him by the arms wordlessly and began dragging him towards the fiery pit in the center of the room. Matthew screamed and kicked and struggled to no avail, tears streaming down his face endlessly. Only Raphael seemed affected by his cries, his jaw clenched as tears of his own threated to fall while he dragged his apprentice and friend towards him. 

 

“Goodbye, Matthew,” Raphael whispered to him as they neared the edge, a singular tear falling down his cheek. Matthew trembled and looked up at him with pleading eyes, but the healing angel had to do what he was told by the orders of Heaven. With the help of Uriel, Raphael forced Matthew into the fiery pit, face paling as Matthew caught aflame and plummeted down towards hell.

 

Matthew flew through the air as he burned, his tortured screams piercing through the depths of hell and the endless expanse of heaven. He plummeted downward, his wings aflame, about to crash to the ground, and then-

 

And then, Crowley woke. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Aziraphale was startled awake as he heard Crowley screaming bloody murder beside him. The angel bolted straight up and was horrified to see Crowley thrashing around in bed, clawing at his face, arms, and chest, his nails digging hard enough to draw blood. Aziraphale quickly grabbed the demon’s hands.  **  
**

“Crowley! Crowley, wake up!” Aziraphale insisted, shaking Crowley slightly and keeping a firm grip on the demon’s hands. Crowley gasped and his eyes shot open, wild and filled with fear. “Oh, my dear, you’re alright,” Aziraphale murmured, coaxing the trembling Crowley into his arms. Crowley shook and clung to Aziraphale, gasping for breath. The angel summoned a cloth and some water and gently began to wipe away the small lines of blood created when Crowley had scratched himself.

“I was- I was burning, it hurt, I-“ Crowley shuddered and cut off suddenly, seizing up. Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he ran quickly out, grabbed a bucket from under the sink. When he ran back in Crowley was clenching his teeth and convulsing with suppressed gags. He grabbed the bucket from Aziraphale and doubled over, vomiting nothing but bile and the trace of food left from his breakfast the previous morning. Aziraphale rubbed his back as he continued emptying his stomach into the bucket a few more times, groaning and rubbing his sore throat when he finally finished. Aziraphale miracled away the contents of the bucket and set it by the bed, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“Crowley, my dear, I think you had a bad dream,” Aziraphale murmured, wiping the sweaty hair away that hung over Crowley’s eyes. The demon panted, face still twisted with pain as he looked up at Aziraphale. 

“It...It wasn’t a dream, Angel. I...Ngh…” Crowley curled up into a ball, gritting his teeth. Aziraphale noticed a faint red glow pulsing beneath Crowley’s skin. It lit up in his veins and grew brighter and brighter but the minute. “My memories...some of them came back. Oh, fuck, it hurts!” Crowley groaned, twitching slightly as the glowing grew brighter. When Aziraphale brushes his hand against Crowley’s skin, he recoiled in shock. Crowley was burning up. Quite literally, it seemed.

“What can I do to help?” Aziraphale asked, running a hand gently through Crowley’s hair to soothe him. The demon grimaced and tensed up as another shock of pain jolted his body. 

“Get...get water, and keep doing that with my hair. Please,” Crowley said weakly, the intensity of the pain draining the life out of him. Using the cloth earlier and filling the now clean bucket with water, Aziraphale dabbed Crowley’s burning skin with the damp cloth. Crowley closed his eyes and tried to hide how much pain he was in, but he whimpered every time Aziraphale touched the cloth to his hot skin. The glow seemed to die down though, which Aziraphale was glad for. 

“When the pain has died down enough, I want you to tell me what happened. Alright?” Aziraphale said. Crowley closed his eyes and could only nod. He was drenched in sweat and irritated as the pain of burning from the inside out wracked through him. It was nowhere near as painful as falling, but it was damn well getting close to it. Finally, he wearily snapped his fingers and his clothes disappeared. Aziraphale was unfazed. He’d seen Crowley naked plenty of times. 

“I remembered us. How we got together,” Crowley began softly, relaxing as the glow began to die away and Aziraphale continued soothing him with the cloth and a hand through his hair. “Gabriel helped me...he was basically my wingman. I showed you the stars I made for you.” Crowley’s voice was wistful as he opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Aziraphale listened to his lover as he softly spoke, tending to him until his glow faded away. He laid beside him and Crowley turned to face him, taking Aziraphale’s hand. 

“Is that all you remember?” Aziraphale asked, smiling softly as Crowley absentmindedly traced the lines and veins of his hand. Crowley shook his head. 

“I remembered a lot of small things. You know, the kinds of things you can’t remember off the top of your head but if you focus on them and specific moments, you remember. Mostly about us and our relationship, or Raphael and Gabriel mentoring me. Oh, did I tell you I was friends with Raphael?” Crowley said, looking up at Aziraphale. Aziraphale went to reply when Crowley stiffened suddenly, his eyes blowing wide. The angel frowned in concern. 

“Crowley, what’s-”  
  


“The lasagna!” Crowley sat bolt upright and dashed into the kitchen. Aziraphale quickly followed him, trying to catch up with the speedy demon. He was still undressed. 

“Crowley, it’s fine, I took it out already!” Aziraphale said, finally getting to Crowley’s side and miracling clothes onto him. The demon didn’t seem to notice the change and was staring at the lasagna tucked away safely in the fridge. “The alarm woke me up, dear. Now come here...you’re shaken up, you shouldn’t be up and about right now,” the angel continued, taking the demon by the shoulders. Crowley waved a hand dismissively and shrugged off Aziraphale’s hand, though not in an unkind way. 

“I’m alright, just tired. It’s hard to sleep well when you relive some of your worst memories after all,” Crowley said casually. Aziraphale blinked, and couldn’t help but feel slightly hurt. Had their time together in heaven been painful? What was Crowley implying? The angel’s expression must’ve given away the angel’s thoughts because Crowley immediately looked panicked. “No, no, no, that’s not what I meant! You were wonderful, we were wonderful, I just remembered my fall. That’s not what I meant to imply at all, I’m sorry,” Crowley said quickly, striding to stand in front of Aziraphale and gripping the angel’s face. His eyes flickered over the angel’s face and searched for any hurt. Aziraphale smile and kissed the concerned demon’s nose, making his face light up with a deep blush. 

“It’s alright, no need to apologize. What exactly did you remember about your fall? I thought you remembered that?” Aziraphale asked, taking Crowley’s hands in his and guiding him back to the bedroom. The demon followed, face devoid of expression. 

“I thought I did, but I was wrong. There were things missing...Gabriel was my advocate for one. That wasn’t very pleasant,” Crowley muttered, letting go of Aziraphale’s hand and going to search through his drawers for clothes. Aziraphale began to dress as well. 

“Meaning? He was your brother. Surely, he defended you?” Aziraphale inquired uneasily. Crowley glanced up at the angel before looking down quickly. He rubbed at his burning eyes and sighed. 

“No. And Raphael was the one to cast me out.” Aziraphale looked up to see Crowley standing with his shoulders hunched, tightly gripping the shirt in his hands. The angel’s eyes softened and he wrapped Crowley in his arm from behind, resting his head on his back. 

“Don’t think about it too much, love. That’s all in the past now. And I’m sure, in Raphael’s case, he was just doing his job,” Aziraphale said gently. Crowley didn’t reply, but he visibly relaxed, and the angel could feel his body becoming less tense under him. “I think you should rest a bit more, darling. You were literally burning from the inside out only a few moments ago,” the angel suggested. Crowley hummed in thought before shaking his head. 

“No. I’ll be fine, just need to...focus on something else,” Crowley said softly. He carefully got out of Aziraphale’s grip and turned to give him a soft kiss. “Thank you for worrying, but I’m alright now. The burning’s gone.” Aziraphale bit his lip, wanting to protest, but found himself unable to speak as Crowley slipped on his shirt. He stopped suddenly, then whipped back around again, a confused expression on his face. “Wait a moment. Before, when I called you a few days ago, you said that you didn’t remember me before I fell but felt like you knew me. Was that true, or were you just sparing me?” Crowley questioned. A lump formed in Aziraphale’s throat. 

“Ah...well, unfortunately, I was telling the truth. I have no memories of you or Matthew previous to when we met in the garden. It appears that heaven erased my memories of you after you fell,” Aziraphale said with a forced smile. Crowley frowned deeply and muttered to himself under his breath as he shrugged his jacket on. Aziraphale twiddled his thumbs and looked down at the floor. 

“I suppose it makes sense. You may have even asked for your memories to be taken. It’d probably be pretty painful to lose a lover to a falling,” Crowley said thoughtfully. He didn’t have the heart to tell Aziraphale that it had been a fight between the two of them which had pushed Matthew to befriend Lucifer. It made complete logical sense to him that Aziraphale would erase his memories out of guilt. That was who the angel was. 

“I would never want to forget you,” Aziraphale said fiercely, cutting off Crowley’s train of thought. Crowley smiled affectionately and kissed Aziraphale’s forehead. 

“Maybe not now, but your past self may have. I’m not angry, please don’t misunderstand what I mean. Now. Why don’t we go out? A walk through the park, perhaps?” Crowley enticed with a quirk of his brow and a small smile. Aziraphale tilted his head in a neutral gesture. 

“Well, I suppose that wouldn’t be a bad idea. Just let me finish getting dressed, yes?” 

Crowley was very patient as he waited for Aziraphale. The angel couldn’t help but feel guilty at how accommodating Crowley was being. It was apparent that he’d re-lived some of the most traumatic experiences from his life as an angel, and here he was waiting for Aziraphale and speaking so sweetly to him as he took his hand and led him out of the flat. It just didn’t seem fair. Crowley had protected Aziraphale for millennia, literally and figuratively. Aziraphale’s job is- well, was, protecting things. Humanity, the Eastern Gate, he’d been put in charge of it. Crowley deserved to feel protected as well. 

When they reached the park, Crowley bought himself a strawberry ice lolly and the traditional 99 with a flake for Aziraphale. Aziraphale accepted the treat gratefully and slipped the ice cream vendor a tip (a rather pleasant American tradition that he’d picked up while visiting there in the early ’70s) and walked hand in hand with Crowley. It was hot out, still summertime, and the ice cream was both appropriate and appreciated. 

“Suppose we move out of London someday,” Crowley mused, “get a cottage in the South Downs or something like that.” Aziraphale flushed and smiled at Crowley adoringly. 

“That would be lovely, Crowley. With Heaven and Hell of our backs, I suppose we could-” Aziraphale was cut off as Crowley jerked to a stop and put a hand in front of him, almost as if he were protecting him. Aziraphale, confused, followed Crowley’s icy glare and was startled to see a man staring directly at them. He wore a black suit, with a white button up and black tie. His dark hair reached about his shoulders and his face was aged with smile lines, but now his expression was completely blank. Aziraphale was reminded of the Japanese actor Tadanobu Asano when he looked at him. He glanced quickly at Crowley. “What’s the matter?” he asked softly, his brow furrowing in confusion. Crowley’s eyes were icy behind his glasses. 

“It’s Raphael.”


	8. Chapter Eight

Aziraphale froze and gripped Crowley’s arm harder. That couldn’t possibly be Raphael; Aziraphale would have recognized him! To be fair, though, the archangel hadn’t been seen in heaven for the last few centuries. Aziraphale’s memory was outdated, while Crowley had seen the archangel in his memories just an hour or two before. 

 

“Are you sure that’s him?” Aziraphale whispered anxiously. Crowley lowered his arm but stood slightly in front of the angel, nodding. 

 

“That’s him alright. But what is he doing here?” Crowley muttered. Raphael locked eyes with him and he stiffened. The archangel had a knowing look in his eyes and beckoned towards Crowley, gesturing for him to follow him before turning away and walking briskly, the coat of his suit whirling out slightly. Crowley knew he shouldn’t follow him. He knew this was probably some sort of a trap, or maybe even a trick his troubled mind he’d come up with. So, he did the only thing any logical person would do. He told Aziraphale to stay put and bolted after the angel. Aziraphale shouted after Crowley but the demon ignored him. He made his way out of the park and looked around wildly, spotting the edge of Raphael’s coat disappearing behind a building and into an alley. Crowley skidded to a stop and then quickly dashed down the alley. It came to a dead end, piled with rubbish and such from the restaurant at the front of it. The archangel was nowhere in sight. Breathing heavily, Crowley looked around. There was no way he could have gotten away. 

 

“You’ve gotten slower.” Crowley whipped around with a snarl on his face. Raphael leaned against the brick wall, one hand in his pocket and the other bringing a lit cigarette to his lips. Crowley almost laughed at the irony; the angel of healing partaking in one of the most damaging of human practices, it was honestly hilarious, but Crowley’s blood boiling at the very sight of the angel distracted him from the humor of the moment. 

 

“What are you doing here?” Crowley hissed. “Doing heaven’s bidding like a little lapdog, are you?” Subconsciously, Crowley was shocked at the aggression in his tone. He’d seen Raphael’s regret in his memories. But there was a burning hatred uncoiling deep in his chest, lashing out like the snake he was and unleashing itself with full intensity. Raphael chuckled and took a long drag from his cigarette before standing up straight and considering Crowley with his unfaltering gaze. 

 

“You’ve changed quite a bit since I last saw you,” Raphael said thoughtfully, a small smile tugging at his lips. “How’s your head? Does it feel good to remember some things?” he continued, casually, so casually it made Crowley uneasy. 

 

“How did you know about?” Crowley questioned, finding himself unable to make eye contact with the angel in front of him. He glanced at the wall just behind him. He had glasses on; he wouldn’t notice, right? 

“You didn’t really think you’re memories were returned because you read the book, did you?” Raphael said with a slight scoff. He put out his cigarette and miracled it away. Crowley’s jaw clenched but he tried to remain cool, and gave a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders in reply. Raphael smiled warmly and shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh. “Ah, Matthew- Well, Anthony, you never cease to amaze me with your blatant idiocy.” Crowley let out an offended gasp and tried to reply, but Raphael snapped his fingers and he found himself unable to speak. His eyes widened and his clutched his throat in confusion. “Now don’t worry, I’ll give you your voice back in a minute. I just need you to listen to me without interrupting,” Raphael said with a cheeky grin. It made Crowley’s skin crawl. Something about this angel just seemed...off. 

 

“Very good. I do apologize for turning up out of the blue like this, and...well, essentially taping your mouth shut and cornering you in a dark alley, but this is important,” Raphael began. He took a deep breath and clasped his hands behind his back. Crowley watched him suspiciously. “I need your help with something. I have made a dreadful mistake,” the angel said quietly. If Crowley still had a mouth, he would have smirked, perhaps even let out a scoff. Raphael shot him a look, and Crowley’s skin burned from it. “Now is no time for humor. I mean it, Anthony, I would not be coming to you unless it was important,” Raphael insisted. “Your memories were not the only ones I removed after your fall. There were four others, all people close to you, and I am beginning to realize that my actions could very well bring about the destruction of Heaven and Hell,” he continued. Crowley felt a shock from the neck up and was suddenly able to speak again. He rubbed his stiff jaw and scowled at the archangel. 

 

“And why do you think that I’ll help you? If it’s true you took my memories, I don’t want to be anywhere near you. Besides, I couldn’t give two flying fucks as to whether Heaven and hell destroyed themselves,” Crowley said smugly, putting his hands in his pockets. Raphael’s expression was stony, his lips drawn in a thin line. 

 

“I know you will help me because the destruction of Heaven and Hell means the destruction of Humanity. I have watched you care for this world even after you had fallen. I was proud to see you hadn’t changed there. I know you love this earth. I know you love humanity. Being a demon with no real intent to harm gives you an advantage there,” Raphael explained. Crowley’s smug expression slowly melted away and he grimaced. He’d told Aziraphale in the park that the next Great War would be Heaven and Hell versus Humanity, but he was not expecting it to be now, so soon, and he certainly hadn’t expected to be told about it by the archangel Raphael.

 

“Alright. You’ve piqued my interest. But why me? Why not Aziraphale? He’s an angel, after all,” Crowley muttered, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort and shifting on his feet. Raphael’s eyes saddened at the mention of the angel. 

 

“If I were to return his memories now, before he was ready, it would destroy him. It is precisely why you would not tell him of your fight. If he knew some things he had done, both before and after your fall, it would destroy him,” Raphael replied. Crowley nodded in understanding, but his eyes still held distrust. 

“But he’ll need to remember eventually. To prevent the end of the world,” Crowley said slowly. Honestly, the entire thing seemed somewhat ridiculous to him. How could the memories of four people affect the balance between good and evil so greatly that it would cause the world to end? And who were the other three? Crowley knew Aziraphale was one, but was clueless on the others. He had a faint idea of one, but he didn’t think it was very likely. 

 

“Precisely, and so do the others. They each play larger roles in the existence of this world than they realize,” Raphael said. Crowley seized his chance.

 

“Who exactly are the others?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow in inquiry. 

 

“Gabriel, Hastur, and Ligur. I thought you would realize that, since all your memories are back,” Raphael said, but the last part was more like thinking aloud. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. 

 

“Well, I get Gabriel, now, but why Hastur and Ligur? I was never close to either of them,” Crowley insisted, ignoring the pain in his chest. In his days as a young demon he’d sought the approval of his two superiors for decades to no avail. It was nothing to worry about now. Raphael’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion before they shot back up with realization. \

 

“Oh, bollocks, I didn’t complete the healing,” Raphael muttered, then cursed to himself. “Come here a moment.” Crowley hesitated before stepping towards the archangel. Raphael grabbed his hands and moved them to face palm up, then traced down the middle of them with his middle and index fingers. “There’s a few more things I need for you to remember in order for this to begin. Now, it may be painful, but I can end it much quicker than you were able to this morning,” Raphael said, tracing more lines in Crowley’s hands. They began to glow a pale gold, and the demon regarded them warily. 

 

“What exactly are you trying to make me remember?” Crowley demanded, the bite in his tone taken away by the slight shaking. Raphael looked up and simply smiled, his eyes holding a bit of a mischevious light in them. 

 

“Oh, you’ll see, Anthony.” Crowley blacked out. 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the last two chapters being boring, this one should be a little more interesting! Remember to leave Comments and Kudos if you enjoyed the story. Thank you <3

Crowley gasped and stumbled backwards in surprise as he and Raphael appeared in the depths of Hell. He quickly regained his footing and looked around nervously. 

 

“What are we doing here? We’ll be seen!” Crowley hissed, bringing his jacket tighter around himself as if that would make him any less visible. Raphael raised an eyebrow at him and shook his head. He seemed to do that quite a lot, Crowley thought. 

 

“This is a memory. No one can see us but you and I. Now look, it’s about to start.” 

 

“What’s-” Suddenly, Matthew, wings and body aflame, came crashing down from the sky above and landed in a smoldering heap on Hell’s floor. He scrambled to his feet, letting out a whimper of pain as his sleek, white wings burned away to an ugly black. He breathed frantically and looked around, terrified at the sight of all the other demons. The fire on his clothes and wings slowly died away and he hugged himself, trembling. A few of hell’s patron’s cast him sympathetic looks before hurrying along their way. Soon, however, two very familiar faces emerged from the crowd and approached the new demon. 

 

“I thought I could sense a new recruit! Welcome to hell, young man!” Hastur had come up behind Matthew and clapped him on the back. Crowley marveled at how differently he looked than the Hastur he knew. Yes, he had the same frog on his head and back eyes and pale skin, but he seemed much less...dead looking. And he was smiling genuinely. Ligur soon popped up on the other side of Matthew, his hand placed on the startled man’s other shoulder. 

 

“Hello, I’m Ligur. This is my partner, Hastur. What’s your name?” Ligur was different too; not in appearance, exactly, but in his demeanor. He was quiet, and his voice had no bite to it when he spoke to Matthew like it did when he spoke to Crowley. Matthew looked at the two demons warily, trying to shrink away. They seemed to get the message and backed away to give the fallen angel some space. Matthew breathed heavily and buried his face in his hands, his hands shaking slightly.

 

“I didn’t mean to get down here,” he choked out. “I didn’t want to fall. I want to go back…!” Matthew shouted. Hastur cautiously placed his hands on Matthew’s shoulders. The fallen angel flinched, but was shaking too much and too upset to move away. Seeing Hastur and Ligur being so....nice was extremely off-putting for Crowley, but Matthew was welcoming the attention and sympathy. 

 

“A lot of us didn’t, Matthew,” Hastur said with a small smile. Matthew’s head jerked up when Hastur used his name, eyes wide with surprise. 

“How did- You just ask for my name and I didn’t- What the  **_fuck?!_ ** ” Matthew spluttered, pushing Hastur’s hands off and backing away even more. Ligur gave Hastur and exasperated look and Hastur’s returning gaze looked something along the lines of, ‘I’m sorry dear, it just slipped out!’ Ligur sighed and rubbed his face. 

 

“We knew you in Heaven, briefly. We were there when Lucifer first introduced you to our group,” Ligur explained. “We asked your name because every demon gets a new one. It appears in your memory with no explanation.”

 

Hastur chimed in, “I didn’t mean to startle you, dear boy. It’s just good to see you again.” Matthew furrowed his eyebrows and looked between the two of them, and Crowley nearly got whiplash as his younger self had a flashback, creating some form of paradox as Crowley began to have a flashback within a flashback. It was all blurred and sped up, but Crowley caught a few briefs snippets. It was a similar exchange to what was going on between the three demons right now. Matthew was jumpy and nervous as Lucifer guided him over to Hastur and Ligur, who greeted him enthusiastically. Matthew slowly grew more comfortable, and Crowley saw a friendship slowly kindle. It was weird as Hell, seeing the three of them be friends.

 

“Oh,” Matthew said breathlessly, “Oh, I remember. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you,” he said sheepishly. Ligur’s face broke into a wide grin and Matthew smiled nervously, his black wings fluttering for a moment from nerves. “It’s good to see you again too...I didn’t know where you’d gone, I thought you just...disappeared,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. Ligur’s smile slowly faded and Hastur sighed. 

 

“Sometimes I wish that we had. We’re a bit like you, you know; we didn’t really mean to fall. But, unlike you, we did things to deserve to fall,” Hastur replied solemnly, putting an arm around Matthew’s shoulders. “You didn’t. You were lonely and heartbroken, and the Almighty should have been more merciful.” Hastur’s voice tinged with anger and his hand gripped Matthew tightly. Matthew didn’t seem to mind, and when the three demons began to walk, he leaned ever so slightly into Hastur’s touch. 

 

“I’m glad I fell. It brought out some people’s true colors,” Matthew said bitterly. Crowley’s face fell as Matthew’s bitter expression turned sad. Hastur squeezed his shoulder and rested a hand on his back in a comforting gesture. If any of the main demons of Hell (for Crowley had inferred that Hastur had not yet risen in ranks among his fellow demons yet), the three of them would have faced dire consequences. Torture, death by Holy Water, being thrown into one of Hell’s fiery pits, the possibilities were endless, but here they were. Crowley found it enduring, if not a bit worrisome. Raphael waved a hand and the scene began to change. They were still in hell, but they seemed to be in some sort of training room. There were those weird dummy things and targets and several different types of weapons lined up on the walls. 

 

“You’re going to have to fight in the Great War whether you like it or not, but I’ll be damned twice if you aren’t prepared,” Ligur said, voice clipped as he circled Matthew, who stood in the middle of the training room with a confused look on his face. Ligur paused for a moment when he was behind Matthew before suddenly lashing out, grabbing Matthew from behind and swinging him over his shoulder. Matthew cried out in surprise and scrambled to gain control, but Ligur had him caught in a headlock in mere seconds. Matthew growled and scratched at Ligur’s arms, but the demon was unfazed.

 

“Ok, for God’s sake, let go of me!” Matthew wheezed as after trying unsuccessfully to get out of Ligur’s grip for a good ten minutes. Crowley grimaced at Ligur’s stone cold expression, but Matthew just scowled and rubbed his neck when the other demon let go.

 

“If this were real I would’ve killed you by now,” Ligur said icily, his eyes flaring brilliant red as his iguana changed to match his emotions. Matthew rolled his eyes and ignored him, sauntering over to the weapons and trying to pick one. Ligur’s eyes and iguana faded to a pale blue and he sighed, clasping his arms behind his back and walking up to Matthew. “I am only trying to help you, Crawly-”

 

“Don’t call me that!” Matthew snapped, whirling around and pressing the blade in his hand against Ligur’s throat. His nostrils flared and his eyes were completely taken over by yellow, but Ligur did not look at all intimidated. Instead, he nodded approvingly and smiled, patting Matthew’s hand. 

 

“Very good. If you’re that quick in battle, you should survive. But you’ll need to stay focused and aware of what is going on around you,” Ligur said. Matthew’s angry expression slowly faded and he backed away from Ligur, expressionless as he replaced the dagger in its sheath.

 

“What if I don’t want to fight?” Matthew asked softly, eyes glazed over and distant as a shadow passed over his face. Ligur’s eyes flickered with realization and he put a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. Matthew tensed but didn’t push Ligur away, just continued to stare blankly at the wall. 

 

“What’s their name?” Ligur questioned. Matthew blink and looked back at him, confused. 

 

“How...How did you know?” was his bewildered reply as he turned to face Ligur. The other demon put his hands on both of the younger demon’s shoulders, smiling in an understanding way. 

 

“Hastur and I have been wondering why you were so upset. Of course, falling itself is terrifying enough but...you seemed sad, and whenever we bring up the war, you’re closed off. Hastur doesn’t think it’s because of someone in Heaven, but I know better,” Ligur said. “It’s common in newer demons, see. We always leave someone behind in Heaven.” Matthew lowered his eyes, that glazed look returning to him as he leaned his back against the wall. 

 

“His name is Aziraphale,” Matthew whispered, his voice barely present. Ligur raised an eyebrow in surprise. 

“I’ve heard of him. He seems very pleasant, I see why you like him. Were the two of you...together, or no?” Ligur’s tone was cautious, but Crowley could sense his curiosity. His heart ached at the sight of Matthew trying to gain his bearings, clenching his jaw tightly to prevent his lips from quivering and crossing his arms over his chest, knuckles white as they clutched his jacket. 

 

“I don’t know,” Matthew answered honestly, his voice cracking with emotion. He quickly scrubbed at his eyes. “We were together, but we got in a fight before I fell. I don’t- I don’t even know if he misses me, or if he even knows that I’m gone,” he continued miserably, and he was closing further into himself. “I wouldn’t blame him. But I don’t want to hurt him. Ever,” he choked out, and finally, a tear slipped down his cheek. Ligur wordlessly pulled Matthew to him, wrapping his arms tightly around the other demon. At first, Matthew resisted, but then he sagged against Ligur, shoulders drooping and arms hanging at his sides. 

 

“You have to fight Matthew, or Hell will punish you severely, but I will keep an eye on Aziraphale and make sure he isn't hurt,” Ligur said sincerely, pulling away to look Matthew in the eye. The demon’s eyes widened. 

 

“You would...You would do that? Really?” Matthew asked earnestly, grasping the front of Ligur’s shirt. Ligur gently removed Matthew’s hands but nodded, smiling at him. Matthew broke out into a relieved smile. “Oh- Oh, Ligur, thank you, that means-” Ligur pressed a finger against his own lips. 

 

“Don’t talk about it. We wouldn’t want anyone else hearing.” Matthew’s face fell and he nodded, rubbing his arm nervously. Ligur smiled again and wrapped an arm around Matthew’s shoulders, guiding him out of the training room. “I think we’ve done enough for today. Let’s see what Hastur is up to, yeah?” The scene faded away once more, Matthew and Ligur disappearing into a cloud of black. Crowley waited for a new scene to appear, but none came. He glanced over at Raphael in confusion. The archangel looked tense and was staring directly back at Crowley. 

 

“Is that all? It seems like there would be more,” Crowley commented. Raphael grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. 

 

“Yeah, about that...there is, but it’s not exactly pleasant. I think that this is enough for now, don’t you?” Raphael said with a nervous smile, rubbing his hands together. Crowley’s expression hardened and he shook his head. 

 

“I’ve been waiting for this for six thousand years, I won’t wait another goddamn second,” Crowley growled. Raphael rolled his eyes as if he were a parent annoyed at a child’s attitude. 

 

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Raphael said ominously, and he waved his hand for the next memory to begin. 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS BRIEF BUT GRAPHIC TORTURE, PLEASE BE CAREFUL

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” Matthew shouted, eyes shining with unshed tears as he ripped out of Hastur’s grip. The older demon watched solemnly as Matthew staggered to his feet, clutching his side and grimacing as blood trickled from his nose. The group of demons who had assaulted the man only moments before walked away, laughing amongst themselves. Hastur put an arm around Matthew, and this time the lower ranking demon did not pull away, allowing himself to be guided away from the busy halls of Hell. Hastur used a small miracle to patch up the man beside him and led him towards the training room. Matthew stiffened, nostrils flaring as he glared at Hastur in a silent demand. 

 

“You need to learn to better defend yourself, Matthew. There’s something you need to learn that I should have taught you a long time ago,” Hastur said, pushing open the door. The training room was unoccupied, thankfully, but Matthew still didn’t look pleased. He looked even less enthusiastic when Hastur began to get out some of hell’s fire proof equipment.

 

“What’s all that for?” Matthew asked, skeptical. Hastur smirked a bit and chuckled, rubbing his hands together. 

 

“I’m going to teach you how to summon hellfire. All demons can do it, and it’s useful for a number of things. Fighting, a light or heat source, you know, that sort of thing,” Hastur drawled, adjusting the fireproof equipment he’d put on himself before snapping and conjuring some onto Matthew’s body. Matthew stumbled back, huffing and straightening the too-large robes. “Wonderful, we’re all set now. Raise your hands, palms up,” Hastur instructed, folding his arms across his chest. Grudgingly, Matthew did as he was told, standing with his feet shoulder width apart and palms up. “Good. Now close your eyes, and focus on transferring all of your body heat to your hands. Sometimes it’s painful when you first start, but after a while you get used to it,” the demon continued, making a circle around Matthew and observing him. Matthew closed his eyes and almost immediately tensed. Crowley grimaced as he saw the harsh, yellow glow underneath Matthew’s skin that reminded him of his own firey pain when he regained his first batch of memories. Hastur’s eyes widened and he grabbed Matthew’s wrists, startling him as his eyes snapped open. He panted, trembling slightly as the glow faded. 

 

“What...What was that? It felt like I was burning,” Matthew muttered, breathing heavily. Hastur released his wrists so he could wipe the sweat from his brow and looked at him skeptically. 

 

“That was hellfire, but you weren’t focusing on one area of your body, you were feeling your entire self. You overwhelmed your body by trying to fill it with hellfire, even if it was subconsciously,” Hastur explained. Matthew sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

 

“Does it get easier?” Hastur snorted out a laugh.

 

“Oh, most definitely. Most demons can summon hellfire on command. It becomes second nature after a while, and it’s exceptionally useful when defending yourself,” Hastur said with a confident nod. Matthew nodded too and started getting back into his stance, but Hastur held up a hand to stop him. “Hold off a minute, let’s take a break. You have to learn how to fight but you won’t be able to if you tire yourself out.” Matthew wrinkled his nose and leaned against the wall.

 

“What if I don’t want to fight?” he asked indignantly, raising an eyebrow at the other demon. Hastur stiffened, his eyes flashing pure black for a moment. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Crowley could see how hard it was for the demon to control his temper. He certainly had been a handful when he first fell. Almost reminded him of a teenager going through their rebellious phase. 

 

“Is this about that angel again?” Hastur asked, his hands on his hips. Matthew snarled. 

 

“‘That angel’ is named Aziraphale! Don’t act like you don’t know it, Hastur,” Matthew snapped, his snake eyes glowing dangerously. Hastur’s expression hardened as he stared back at Matthew. 

 

“I’ll talk about him however I want. He is distracting you from your new purpose, Matthew. None of us can even use your real name without you lashing out at his,” Hastur hissed, voice dripping with venom. Oh, Jesus Christ, Crowley wanted to die of embarrassment right there and then. There’s no way he’d been that lovesick before. 

 

“What new purpose? I only have one purpose, to serve her! I’m not a demon like you, I’m simply an angel who fell,” Matthew replied angrily, his wings flaring out behind him as he pushed himself off the wall, storming over to Hastur until they were so close their noses almost touched. Hastur grimaced when he saw Matthew’s wings. 

 

“You will lose your wings eventually, my friend.  You need to adjust, you're too soft. Tough love will do you some good . That’s why I let those demons hurt you. You’ll never survive on the battlefield unless you toughen up a bit,” Hastur said stiffly, shoving Matthew back. Matthew glared at Hastur, the snake portion of his eyes blowing to completely cover the whites.

 

“I will not fight in a war where I could hurt those I love,” Matthew spat.

 

“The battlefield is no place for friends,” Hastur snarled, finally showing his anger as his hands lit on fire. Matthew’s fired up in kind. 

 

“It appears that hell isn’t either,” Matthew hissed, not even noticing the fire licking his palms. Hastur did, and he bit his tongue to stop himself from complimenting his friend. Matthew was in no state for flattery. The demon did notice soon, however, but as soon as he turned his surprised gaze to his hands, the fire went away in a flash. Hastur smiled smugly. 

 

“ See? It's the anger that all demons have that does it. Whether you want to admit it to yourself or not, you are a demon, Matthew. Aziraphale is no longer yours. Heaven is no longer yours. She is no longer yours. Hell is yours, Ligur and I are yours, this is where you belong now!” Hastur said, eyes gleaming. All the color left Matthew’s face and he closed his eyes, shaking his head furiously. 

 

“No. No! I will never be part of this, Hastur! I will not fight!” Matthew protested.

 

“You will fight!” Hastur shouted. “And if you don’t fight, I will drag you down into the deepest pits of Hell myself!” Hurt flashed across Matthew’s face and he backed away from the demon. Hastur’s anger faded. “Matthew. Matthew, my boy, I didn’t mean that-”

 

“Don’t touch me,” Matthew muttered, flinching away from the hand that Hastur tried to extend towards him. “I thought that you would understand, but I should have known better. You wanted to fall. Being here was, in the end, your choice, even though you didn’t think you wanted it at first. And you have Ligur. He fell with you. You can love him without shame or fear of harming him. You’ll never understand,” Matthew said, his voice cracking. He removed the equipment and went out of the training room, leaving a distraught and conflicted Hastur in his wake.

 

“Is this what made him hate me?” Crowley asked as the scene slowly faded away, not realizing a new one was forming as he turned to Raphael. The archangel kept his eyes on Crowley’s memories and shook his head. 

 

“No. No, Crowley, it was this one. Pay attention,” he said solemnly, putting his hands deeply into his pockets again. Crowley turned back to the memory, watching with bated breath. Matthew was being dragged through the hallways of hell by two lower demons, who ignored his screaming and kicks as they held onto him tightly. The rest of the legions of Hell were headed in the opposite direction, brandishing weapons and shrieking out an inhuman battle cry. Matthew would have covered his ears if he could and Crowley and Raphael both did, flinching away from the awful sound. Matthew was dragged unceremoniously down a flight of stairs into a dank, musty area with rows of cells and a door at the end of the hallway. Crowley’s throat tightened. This was where the worst souls would go to be tortured. Matthew’s eyes reflected what Crowley felt, but he growled. 

 

“I’ll fucking rip Hastur’s head off!” Matthew snarled, fighting against the demons’ grips. They exchanged a look and their eyes glinted as they smiled, but they said nothing. Matthew continued ranting. “He swore...He swore he wouldn’t say! I was going to go back to Heaven!” He was practically screaming by then, trying to twist away from the demons holding him as they pushed open the doors into hell’s torture chambers. It was surprisingly bare. Matthew supposed that was because whoever did the torturing like to conjure up whatever they thought of in their minds to use on the souls that were damned here. Matthew began to tremble as the demons finally released him and felt flat on his face, unable to catch himself as his hands were miraculously bound tightly behind his back. The door closed behind him with a resounding clang, and Matthew was thrown into pitch darkness. Crowley squinted and tried to see what was going on. All that could be heard was Matthew’s panicked breathing and him shuffling across the floor as he tried to stand. A loud scream suddenly pierced the air and Matthew’s head shot up, his eyes widening. He recognized that voice. He knew who that was, He tried to get to his feet, but to no avail. 

“Ligur!” Matthew shouted, “Ligur, where are you?” He finally managed to stand and walked blindly through the dark. His only reply was another scream and a groan of pain, this time from another source. Matthew’s blood ran cold and the color drained from his face. “Ligur! Hastur, I’m here! Where are you?” Matthew was shaking as he walked blindly through the dungeons. It seemed never ending, and the piercing screams of his friends kept getting louder and louder to the point Matthew could actually make out words. 

 

“I swear we knew nothing! Matthew didn’t tell us- ah!” Ligur was cut off as he let out another cry of pain. Hastur was sobbing and begging for Ligur to be let go, pleading for their tormentor to just take him and leave his lover alone. Matthew took off into a sprint, nearly falling several times from his hands being bound. The screaming and cries were louder. Matthew knew that he was close. He ran and ran until his legs were weak underneath him and he collapsed, tears streaking down his face. The screams were unbearably loud. Matthew curled up into a ball and sobbed as the screams echoed and bounded all around him, forcing their way into his mind as he lay there, vulnerable and crying. And then it stopped, just as suddenly as it had begun. Light flooded into the room. There was the faint sound of sobbing and whimpers of pain, but that was all. Matthew lifted his head, and was met with a horrifying sight.

 

Hastur and Ligur were slumped against the wall, held upright as their wrists were bound and pulled up by a chain. Both of them had been stripped of their robes and remained only in loincloths. Hastur looked unconscious, and Ligur was just barely stirring. They were both caked in blood, their bodies covered in lacerations, whip marks, burns, and a number of other horrific injuries. Both of them looked as if their legs had been broken. Matthew gasped and tried to drag himself towards them, but found himself unable to move. He looked back to see chains around his ankles, securing him to the ground. His stomach churned as he looked around the new room. Unlike before it was no longer bare. There were whipping posts, racks, iron maidens, and a number of other torture devices Matthew didn’t even know the name for. Crowley felt sick. As the memory slowly returned while it was played out for him, he had a vague suspicion of what was about to happen.

 

“Raphael, I don’t want to watch this. Please,” Crowley begged weakly, grabbing the archangel’s arm and grasping it tightly. Raphael pulled Crowley to his side, wrapping an arm around him comfortingly, but holding him there. 

 

“I’m sorry, Anthony, but I can’t stop a memory once it has begun. It would damage your memory permanently and completely wipe everything. If you need to look away you can, and I can silence it, just say the word,” Raphael said, squeezing Crowley’s shoulder. The demon trembled as Matthew, Hastur, and Ligur were joined by a dark, hooded figure. Seeming to sense the new being’s presence, Hastur jerked back to consciousness and closed in on himself, trembling and trying to press himself further back into the wall. Fearful, but determined, Matthew faced the newcomer. 

 

“What did you do to them?!” he demanded, sitting up and ignoring the way his wrists burned. The figure paused to look at Matthew, face hidden by a black executioners mask, before taking a whip off the wall. 

 

“I gave them what they deserved. They are traitors, conspiring against Hell. They deserve to be punished,” the figure said, voice gravelly and low and terrifying, making Matthew shiver. 

 

“They did nothing of the sort! It was all me, they didn’t know I was going to try and get back to Heaven. Please, let them go. They’ve done nothing wrong!” Matthew protested, and he was crying, tears hot and wet as they spilled down his cheeks and made tracks through the dirt that had built up from him being collapsed on the floor. The Tormentor hummed thoughtfully before snapping their fingers. Hastur and Ligur crumpled to the ground in a broken heap, Ligur crying out in pain as his broken leg was jerked terribly. They trembled and got as close to each other as they could, clinging to each other and watching Matthew and the Tormentor with fearful eyes. 

 

“Well then. I suppose it’s time I moved onto you,” the Tormentor said, voice monotone and void of all emotion. They didn’t even have any enjoyment or thrill in their voice. Just indifference, and Matthew found that even more terrifying than if the Tormentor had been gleeful. Matthew’s ankles were unchained and he was pulled to his feet by his hair and dragged to the center of the room, where one of the posts stood tall, glistening with blood. Matthew gagged as he was pushed against the pole, his back facing the Tormentor as his hands were brought up and slung over the hook at the top by his rope bindings. Matthew turned his face, his cheek and hair smearing with blood. He didn’t even want to think about whose it was. 

 

“Don’t hurt him! He was stupid and confused, he made a mistake! Please, let him go!” Ligur said, his voice cracking with effort and raspy from screaming. Matthew closed his eyes and his breath whistled through his clenched teeth. The Tormentor paid attention to none of them, and brought down the whip against Matthew’s back. Matthew yelled out in pain as the whip tore at the skin on his back, leaving a deep, bloody cut. Crowley’s vision spun and he buried his face in Raphael’s shoulder. He couldn’t watch. He remembered now, he didn’t want to watch, he couldn’t watch. The cracks of the whip and Matthew’s screams seemed to go on for eternity. The Tormentor showed no signs of stopping, even when Matthew’s back was nothing but a shredded, bloody mess. He couldn’t even scream anymore, body jerking with each strike and mouth open in a silent scream. The blood on his face from the post was cut through by tracks of tears, even as more of his own blood flew on his face in specks.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” someone roared, bursting into the room. Crowley’s head whipped up and Matthew flinched, trembling. Raphael, a memory version of Raphael, stormed over to the Tormentor with his eyes blazing. “You were supposed to contain them! You were not supposed to punish them!” Raphael shouted, positively fuming. Matthew lifted his head weakly and looked at his friend, shaking and eyes wide in disbelief. The Tormentor stammered and tried to cover his ass, but Raphael wasn’t having any of it. He pushed passed them and rushed to Matthew’s side, eyes filling with unshed tears. “Oh my God, my dear friend, I’m so sorry,” Raphael said, voice hushed as he gently lifted Matthew’s hands off of the chain and helped him down. 

 

“Raphael,” Matthew sobbed, collapsing into the angel’s arms and crying with despair. “I just wanted to go home. I just wanted to go home…” He whimpered and clung to Raphael. His blood coated the angel’s white robes with crimson and Raphael grimaced, waving a hand. Matthew gasped and his grip on Raphael tightened as the wounds on his back slowly began to heal. He groaned and shook as the pain that came with healing wracked through his body. “No more, no more, please,” Matthew begged, his voice thin and filled with exhaustion. Raphael pet his hair soothingly and whispered calming words, looking over at the now unconscious Hastur and Ligur and silently using his powers to heal them. But he did more than that. His eyes glowed faintly and he stared directly at the two of them. Wisps of black slowly rose from their forms and collected into a ball, hovering in the air for a moment before disappearing. 

 

“It’s almost over, Matthew. Everything’s going to be alright,” Raphael murmured, his eyes glowing again as he looked down at Matthew. The demon’s eyes fluttered shut and he sagged against Raphael, forcing the angel to slowly lower both of them to the ground. Raphael continued to whisper and soon black wisps rose from Matthew as well, forming into their own ball. As soon as the black disappeared, the memory cut off abruptly. Still clinging to Raphael like a lifeline, Crowley stared in amazement at their now black surroundings.

 

“That’s when you took them. My memories. Why?” Crowley whispered, eyes filled with pain as he looked at his old friend. Raphael returned his gaze sympathetically and kept him close. 

 

“It was my orders from Heaven. You, Hastur, Ligur, Gabriel, and Aziraphale all lost your memories around the same time. Well, Hastur and Ligur’s memories were modified so that they would despise you. The Almighty and Lucifer were worried that even if your memories were wiped, the three of you would find each other again and become friends, so they had to hate you. I’m sorry,” Raphael murmured, placing a hand over Crowley’s shaking one and squeezing tightly. Crowley sighed. He felt drained, but he supposed that was better than burning up like the first time. 

 

“Do you need to show me anything else?” Crowley murmured. He could still feel gaps. So many gaps. Raphael shook his head. 

 

“No, let’s get you home. Aziraphale will be waiting anxiously for your return.” Crowley nodded in agreement and leaned against Raphael as the alleyway reappeared and the two of them began to walk back to Crowley’s flat. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! This chapter is more of a filler but I hope you guys like it! Remember to leave comments and kudos! <3

Aziraphale’s blood ran cold when he saw Raphael and Crowley on the doorstep of his bookshop, Crowley leaning heavily against Raphael, face pale and expressionless. The angel quickly opened the door for the other two beings and ushered them inside. Crowley let go of Raphael immediately and clung to Aziraphale, burying his face in his shoulder and shivering. Aziraphale held his lover close and looked at Raphael questioningly. 

 

“What happened?” he asked, cautious. This was the first time he’d seen Raphael in millennia, and he’d come back with a traumatized Crowley and didn’t even have the decency to explain what was happening. Raphael closed the door behind him as he entered and sighed, running a hand through his hair and looking at the couple sympathetically. 

 

“I returned some more of his memories to him. They aren’t all exactly...happy ones. It appears the last memory I gave him is forcing him to relive some rather traumatic events,” Raphael murmured. He rested a hand on Crowley’s back and the demon flinched, burying himself further into Aziraphale. “He needs to rest. He isn’t in a good state of mind right now,” Raphael insisted. Aziraphale hesitated before nodding, situating Crowley better in his arms despite how desperately the demon was clinging to him.

 

“I was going to make tea, but it appears that I may be a bit caught up for a while. Would you mind doing that for me?” Aziraphale whispered to Raphael. He didn’t trust the archangel, not by a longshot, but he was here and Aziraphale planned to put him to some use, even if it all did backfire. Raphael gave the other angel a curt nod and a lazy salute with two fingers before meandering into his kitchen. Aziraphale decided not to think about how Raphael knew where the kitchen was. He held Crowley and carried him up to the bedroom on the top floor of the bookshop. When he tried to settle his demon onto the bed he whimpered and grabbed for Aziraphale, eyes open now and filled with fear.

 

“Don’t leave me alone right now, please angel,” Crowley said quickly. His hands were shaking. Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s knuckles and got into bed next to him.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling,” Aziraphale reassured gently, pulling Crowley close. The demon curled into his side and wrapped his arms around his waist, burying his face into the angel’s soft stomach. Aziraphale gently pet the demon’s hair until Crowley fell asleep, mouth open and snoring softly, glasses askew. Aziraphale carefully took the glasses off and set them aside, sitting him and rearranging Crowley into a more comfortable position before pulling the blankets over him. He didn’t leave, as he promised, but sat up against the headboard and waited for Raphael to come in with the tea. Crowley shifted and muttered something under his breath, reaching out and wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s thigh in his sleep. The angel’s face flushed as Crowley smiled in his sleep and nuzzled against him. 

 

“I’ve brought the tea. Where should I put it?” Raphael whispered, poking his head into the bedroom. He was carrying a tray with three cups and what appeared to be milk and sugar. Aziraphale gestured vaguely to the nightstand and watched Raphael carefully. Something about him rubbed Aziraphale the wrong way. He couldn’t sense any form of emotion from him, for one. He had somehow completely shielded himself from detection. 

 

“Just because I’ve let you in here doesn’t mean I trust you,” Aziraphale said scathingly, making a point to have his opinion of the archangel known. Raphael smirked and sat in a chair at the end of the bed, swinging one leg over the other and leaning back. 

 

“Good, you’d be a moron if you did,” Raphael replied coolly. “I can explain why I’m here if you’d like, Anthony already got the story.” Aziraphale hesitated before nodding. “Alright. In the beginning, Matthew was my apprentice. You know about Matthew right? Ok, good. So we were tight, really close. When Matthew fell, heaven put me in charge of casting him out and essentially eliminating his memories. Then they forced me to take away the memories of everyone in his life so no one knew about Matthew, just Crowley. At first it was working out alright. However, that’s changing rapidly. It’s quite literally causing the second apocalypse.” Aziraphale hid his anxiousness by scoffing at the other angel. 

 

“You really expect me to believe that Crowley’s memory- or rather, the lack thereof, is causing the Apocalypse?” Aziraphale asked with a chortle. Raphael deadpanned. 

 

“Yes. The relationships he had were with many vital and important people in both heaven and hell. His absence in their memories is causing a rift. Anger, denial, confusion, they’re all caused by the lack of memories and making all parties involved more aggressive. I’m sure you remember when Gabriel stopped being as nice as he first was,” Raphael continued. Aziraphale paused to consider his words. It just seemed so preposterous that Crowley, his Crowley, was so important that his absence would cause a war. Then again...being the creator of stars and nebulas would have made Crowley fairly significant in heaven. Maybe…

 

“I just don’t see how this would cause a second Armageddon. I mean...Crowley said that we knew each other before, and it hasn’t affected me much. I get the occasional headache, but it’s nothing like what happened to Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted, his stubbornness overshadowing his curiosity and thoughts that this could be a reasonable explanation. Raphael considers Aziraphale for a moment, crossing one leg over the other and rubbing his beard/chin in thought. 

 

“Your memories haven’t been restored yet, I assume?” Raphael asked, standing up from his chair and clasping his hands behind his back. He was unashamedly studying Aziraphale, looking the principality up and down. If Aziraphale hadn’t been sitting on the bed, he was sure the archangel would have done circles around him. 

 

“No, they haven’t, and I don’t see why they should be. I remember Crowley now, we are together and in love and that’s all that really matters. I don’t need to remember our past together,” Aziraphale said firmly. Raphael raised an eyebrow. 

 

“If you’re so sure, I suppose I can’t force you. Think on it, though. My offer still stands.” And with that, Raphael swept out of the room and left Crowley and Aziraphale alone. The demon shifted and muttered something in his sleep, curling up tighter into a ball. The angel sensed no distress, which he was grateful for, but he himself was suffering from his own inner battle. He didn’t need to remember his past with Crowley. It was unnecessary. Or was it? What if it helped them? Or helped the angel better understand his partner? 

 

What if Aziraphale couldn’t truly love Crowley unless he remembered? 

 


End file.
